i dreamt the mariana trench

in the western pacific

would be deep enough

to accept the tears of the planet

but of course the tears never end

and everything changes

even the shadows on the moon

from the top of si surat stupa

the ocean gleams with pride

sending off each wave

like a kiss

but of course the kiss ends

everything changes

even the shadows from the sun

on songkhla beach the sand rushes off

in a steep undertow

taking the breath

right out of you

like tears

--- e b bortz 

camus found a shortcut

below the bloomfield bridge

a lot of the neighbors

refused to acknowledge this

they were satisfied to cling to the old ways

& their own narrow paths & visions

but there are open fields and tall grass

and a hidden pond i've been told

where the painters and weavers and sculptors

left their marks over the years

and where few even know about this

of course there are plenty of gray days

that hang over the steel superstructure

a legacy to hot metal plunder

but when you look closely

you can still see as camus saw

an earth that refuses all previous assumptions

caressed by a gentle hand of forgotten dreams

water to feed the most thirsty

a morning skylight with a wet brow

a forgotten trail to bring us home

--- e b bortz 

there are no alleys on geranium ridge

and when the clouds permit

the sun throws everything

at the ideal

even buena vista

a street as well as an aura

passing through our barely

post-adolescent lifelines

the sweat of our palms

impossible as it may seem

you told me once

it was a long walk home

like passing through the valley

of crying children

though you loved children

and you left before

the valleys were left in rust

'neath a stack of lost church pews

& scattered red bricks

from woods run

you went back east

before going out west again

and i can't say

i blame ya

but before all that

why'd you hook up

in a lost fleeting moment

with a guy singing

(off-key)

& phony

right outta the military-industrial 

draft board songbook

geranium street emptied over the years

but i think the city steps might still be there

up to the buena vista cobblestones

watch out for the drop-off

before the flowers bloom

test the earth before you step

but don't run away

with your hands in your pockets

--- e b bortz

roads riverbeds canyons buttes & mesas

i know these words have been used

more elegantly than here

sometimes we wait too long

for the perfect phrase

combinations of underused words

won't fool anybody

how many times have the leaves changed

before and after their sequence of prime colors

or from the terra incognita

you wait for the perfect

that never comes

the road will sort us all out

in the end

at some point

there will be dust squalls

& flash floods

the land has a watchful eye

& never made promises

--- e b bortz

earth note 833

leaves fall like hollow words

onto the paper

onto the street

the sun finally making

its grand entrance

letting the yellow stand out on its own

& the sugar maple coming home

     late

this year the whole world

must be watching

empty suits and stolen satchels

     ad nauseam

say something new already

waiting for the forest

     to rise

above the ashes

somewhere there's gotta be a rainmaker

the white pine

have shed their brown needles

it would appear now

in our ignorance

that all is well

--- e b bortz